by Brad Taylor
breathing deeply. The feeling passed, and a coldness began to seep into
my body, like water from the bottom of the ocean. It spread through
376 ⁄ BRAD TAYLOR
out, driving out the rage. Driving out the blackness. I felt nothing at all, and in that moment, I knew what it was like to be Lucas Kane.
I rose slowly, and he sensed something was wrong. Recognizing how mistaken he had been before. We hadn’t been alike at all. Until now.
I went to the steel door and flipped the bolt lock. I pulled out my Spyderco knife. I needed to free him from his bonds, but could only do one arm at a time, so I had to make sure he couldn’t attack while I freed the other.
I reached around him and sliced his right bicep at the juncture where it joined his humerus, the serrated blade going down until I had severed the tendons.
He screamed and thrashed, then began yelling, “What the fuck are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Think of the intelligence I have. The help I can give!”
I said, “You’re wrong about me. I’m not like you.”
I cut the cuff of the arm I’d just damaged, then the cuff to his right ankle.
“I’m no murderer.”
I bent down and cut the left ankle cuff. I heard Blaine pounding on the door outside. I ignored it and cut the cuff on his remaining good arm.
I looked into his eyes. “But I am a killer.”
I tossed the knife onto the floor in front of him and stood to the side.
“I wish I could make this painless, but it’s got to look like something crazy happened here. Like you escaped and attacked me.”
He said, “Are you fucking nuts? I’m not going to fight you. You just destroyed my arm! I’ll wait until they break that door down.”
I swung a vicious right hook and snapped his head back.
“Then I guess you’re going to die like a fucking weasel in that chair. Go for the knife. It’s the last chance the U.S. government is going to give you.”
He twisted his head until he could see me. “Why, man? I can help the United States. I have more operational data in my head than you’ll ever get. I penetrated Hezbollah. Come on, Jennifer’s just a piece of ass. Ask the man outside the door! She’s not worth the damage you’re going to do to United States security!”
I smiled with little warmth. I now knew I was going to enjoy this. “She’s worth all I have to give. And for you, that’s going to be considerable.”
He said nothing. I flipped Heather’s driver’s license into his lap. “You never made the connection to the name, did you?”
He recognized the license, confusion in his eyes, wondering how I’d found it. Wondering where this was going. When he focused on the last name, his eyes narrowed to slits, and I knew I had won. Knew he would realize nothing remained but to fight. He dove out of the chair toward the knife. I waited a half second, until he got his good hand on it.
Then I went to work.
83
L
ooking expectantly around the room, Kurt waited for another question, but none came. Well, this was a hell of a lot easier than I thought it would be. Given the chaotic actions in Doha, including his unilateral order to launch a Taskforce team, every single member of the Oversight Council had come to hear the briefing, but none had blistered him like he thought would occur.
He turned to President Warren and said, “Sir, subject to anything you have, this concludes the briefing.”
“Nope,” President Warren said. “That’s it. Thanks for coming by. I’d blocked out two hours for this, but looks like we’re done.”
The room broke into a low buzz, and Kurt turned to pack his attaché case. The president leaned in and said, “I’d like to see you for a minute.”
Kurt nodded, thinking, Great. Knew it was too easy.
Alexander Palmer, the national security advisor, began speaking to the president, and Kurt followed them both out of the room. They exited the Old Executive Office Building and entered the West Wing of the White House. In short order, they reached the Oval Office. The president looked at his watch, then cut off the conversation. He motioned to Kurt, and all three began to enter the Oval Office. Before Kurt reached the door, he heard the president say, “Alex, I’d like to see Kurt in private, if that’s okay.”
Palmer looked peeved, but said nothing.
Kurt wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. What the hell is this all about?
The president took a seat behind his desk and got right to the point.
“So, Lucas escaped and attacked Pike, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This would be what, his third time to get out of Taskforce control? This time inside a facility full of Taskforce operators? You saying your boys are too stupid to learn from previous mistakes?”
Where’s this going? How come he didn’t dig into this in front of the Council?
“No, sir.”
“Doesn’t sound like the Lucas Kane you’ve been briefing. You said he’d sell his mother for money and did nothing on emotion. Why would he attack Pike instead of trying to simply get free?”
“I think we misread him. Pike was in the room with him. Apparently he knew he was done and wanted a little payback.”
“So now he escaped in front of Pike? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t have a complete report yet.”
The president let that hang in the air for a moment, then said, “A little birdy told me his restraints had been cut.”
Uhoh.
“That little birdy’s full of shit.”
President Warren broke into a grin. “Come on. Nobody cares! You guys saved the day. Pike’s a damn hero. The director of the CIA is happy Lucas got smoked because of the men he lost from SAD, and the secretary of state is jumping for joy because the peace process was saved. I’m jumping for joy because the peace process was saved. Shit, nobody batted an eye that you launched an entire Taskforce team without even informing the Council. You could have told us you’d had Lucas drawn and quartered on the square.”
Kurt inwardly sighed, relieved. He just wants some inside skinny. Too bad I can’t give it to him.
“Sir, I can’t alter what happened. Lucas went crazy. He could have
380 ⁄ BRAD TAYLOR
possibly escaped, but he chose to attack Pike. He went down hard. His choice.”
“So I heard in the briefing. I thought Pike was better trained than that. What happened to all that kung-fu, martial arts shit? He couldn’t subdue him? He had to beat him to death with his bare hands?”
“Lucas got some licks in. Hit Pike with a knife. He was just defending himself.”
The president grinned again and turned his chair to the window. “Convenient that Pike was the one to kill him.”
Kurt felt the edge return. Surely he doesn’t know about Pike’s family. If he did, the president would know he had been lying outright.
“Why?”
“Nothing. Just that Lucas tried to kill him and Jennifer three years ago, and now he ends up dying at Pike’s hands. All neat and tied up in a bow. But, if that’s what happened, that’s what happened. Right?”
“That’s what my after-action report will read.”
The president spun back around. “All right, all right. I’ll live with it. But when I’m out of this office, we’re going for some beers.”
Kurt said, “Yes, sir.”
President Warren waited for something more. When none came, he sighed and said, “What about the two terrorists we have? You think we’ll get anything out of them for future operations?”
Relieved to be away from the death of Lucas, Kurt said, “Hamid, the guy we got in the apartment in Dubai, is a nobody. He was helping the Ghost out of friendship. No other terrorism connections. We’re going to turn him loose after making sure we’re right. Run him through GITMO, then repatriate him.”
“And the Ghost?”
“I don’t know. He’s not a global jihadist. He’s just
a nationalist for the Palestinian cause. He’s not one of those guys frothing at the mouth about Muslims taking it to the capitalist pigs. He doesn’t know much about any global movements, but he’s one deadly dude. Pike’s got an idea, though.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m not sure I should tell you so soon. It’s just an idea at this stage. Ever hear of the Selous Scouts?”
“No.”
“It was a Special Forces unit in the Rhodesian civil war. The government used ‘turned terrorists’ to infiltrate the insurgency movements. Teamed with Special Forces operators, it was extremely effective, with damage that far outweighed its size.”
President Warren looked incredulous. “Yeah, you should have waited on that. Only Pike would like an idea that crazy. Where is he now, by the way?”
“On leave in Charleston. Getting some well-deserved rest.”
84
P
ike said,“The reservation’s in my name. Order me a rum and
Coke. I’ll be up as soon as I park.”
Jennifer said, “Here? You can’t afford this.”
“I can every once in a while. When it’s a special occasion.” Jennifer exited the vehicle and entered Halls Chophouse, one of the
finest steakhouses on the Charleston peninsula. And the cost on the menu reflected it. Not that she was complaining, because Pike was paying, and the service, food, and atmosphere were well worth the price.
Being led to their table on the second floor, she wondered what he’d meant by the comment “special occasion.” She’d made it plain that she didn’t want to talk about their relationship, and he’d taken that at face value, agreeing immediately. Which just raised more suspicion. He’s been hinting about the talk for weeks.
She just couldn’t do it. She knew if they had the “Big Talk,” as Pike called it, she’d have to bring up Lucas. And what he had done to her. She cared deeply for Pike and knew she couldn’t have a relationship that started out as a lie. He deserved to know, and she was petrified to tell him. She had been soiled by the man who’d taken everything he’d held dear. There’s no way he’ll look at me the same. No way he wouldn’t be revolted in her presence. Even if he pretended, it would be there, she knew. She’d rather remain as a business partner. Half of Pike is better than none.
She felt the sadness coming again. Since they’d returned to Charleston, she’d continually fought the urge to cry and realized the attack itself wasn’t the true punishment. It was the loss of Pike the attack had caused. Because of Lucas, she would never connect with him. Lucas had taken everything from her over nothing more than greed. She wished she could cause him pain even now.
Pike seemed to be oblivious to her mood swings. In fact, he seemed on top of the world. She wondered if that was an act, after what he had done to Lucas. If maybe he wasn’t covering up the same type of scars she had. She was worried about him. Worried if he would explode from what he had done, letting the pent-up venom out in a rage and causing his downfall. She might not get to have him, but she could still protect him.
The waiter came, and she ordered two Bacardi Cuba Libres. When he returned, Pike was right behind him.
“Got lucky. Open spot on John Street.”
She smiled and paused for the waiter to leave.
“So, what’s the occasion?”
“Nothing big. Just that we made it home alive and in one piece.”
She said, “Are you really in one piece? I mean, you sure are acting chipper, like every day’s your birthday.”
He grinned, and she saw it was genuine. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m better than good. I feel whole again.”
She said nothing, reading his eyes to flush the lie. She sensed none, unlike she had in Beirut. No hidden pain. Is he really whole? After what I saw in Frankfurt?
“Pike, please don’t hide it. Don’t pretend. I’ve seen what that’s like with you. I’ll still be here.” She smiled. “I’ve seen you at your worst. I don’t want to see that again.”
“Jennifer, I mean it. I had a couple of bad nights, but they were all based on Lucas. He tried to convince me we were the same, and I think I was wondering if he wasn’t right. But I’m nothing like him.”
She let that sit for a second, then said, “So killing him had no ef
384 ⁄ BRAD TAYLOR
fect? I’m not poking, it’s just that you were pretty adamant in Frankfurt. Afraid of the cost.”
“Yeah, I was. But that’s exactly what I mean. I almost killed an innocent man. Lucas would have done it and not lost a wink of sleep. I came close, and it tore me up.” He paused, then said, “You ever see the movie The Green Mile?”
“Yeah, I think. That movie with Tom Hanks?”
“That’s the one. Killing Lucas was like releasing the bees in that movie. Remember when John Coffey opened his mouth and all those bees flew out into the bad guy? That’s what it felt like to me. All of my hate and anger went straight into Lucas, and it hasn’t come back.”
She said nothing, happy for him and sad for herself. Lucas’s demise had made her feel shameful because of the joy it had brought. But it hadn’t brought closure. Only telling Pike would do that—and when she did, it would be closure for good between them.
He took her hand, surprising her. “Which is why I brought you here tonight. I said I’m whole, but I’m not. There’s a piece missing.”
She felt a panic rise. You promised.
He leaned in and kissed her on the lips. She didn’t move, didn’t respond, frozen in place. She felt the urge to run. To stall for time. To prevent this from being the last dinner she had with him.
“Pike, I can’t do this. Don’t make me do this tonight.”
“I know. Don’t worry, I know. That kiss was just a little Monkey’s Blood.”
She stared blankly at him, the confusion mounting.
He said, “I’m not whole because you’re not whole.”
He placed his other hand over hers and leaned across the table until they were inches apart. She saw the kindness in his eyes and felt the sadness blossom anew at the loss she was about to create.
“Pike. I have to tell you something.”
He said, “Shhhh. You don’t have to tell me anything. I just want you to know I’m here, just like you were for me. No commitments, no big talk until you’re ready. I just want you to know I understand.” She felt the tears well up and said, “No, you don’tunderstand—”
He cut her off. “Jennifer, I didn’t kill Lucas because of what he did to my family. I killed him for what he did to you.”
It took several seconds for the meaning to become clear. Then several more for the implications to sink in. He already knows. And doesn’t care.
Pike leaned in farther and kissed her again. This time she hesitatingly returned it.
He said, “I hear Monkey’s Blood can cure anything.”
acknowledgments
Strangely enough, the first person I would like to thank provided help for something that ended up getting cut completely. A big part of the initial draft of Enemy of Mine was set in Syria. As fate would have it, Rob, my old college roommate, was the defense attaché for the U.S. Embassy in Damascus. We planned on a research trip to both Syria and Lebanon, with him as a tour guide, and he helped with initial plotting from tactical details such as the interior flow of the Damascus airport to strategic information about Hezbollah, President Assad, and the future of the Levant. Then, Syria went up in smoke and my trip fell apart, with Rob becoming preoccupied with cabinet-level visits and car bombs. Sorry all of that got cut, Rob, but rest assured the ethos is threaded throughout. The Ghost was born in our conversations. Glad you made it home safely.
With the Levant portion of my trip in shambles, I had to rely on old-fashioned research into Beirut. I’ve now read a ton of dry books on Hezbollah and the Palestinian problem, but only one really captured the atmosphere of Lebanon. Michael Totten, a journalist who spent a great deal of time all over the Levant, wrote The Road to Fatima G
ate, which I used relentlessly. If you have any interest, I’d recommend picking it up.
There are a couple of unnamed drivers in Qatar and Dubai who helped immensely, one from Bangladesh and one from Egypt. Want to know what’s going on at the local level, beyond the tourist hype and the official government line? Hire an unregulated cabbie. They love to showcase their knowledge and are more than willing to do things that some would say are a little gray. My wife was convinced I was going to end up as a ransom demand, but it was the best money I have ever spent on any of my research.
Thanks to Axe, Slappy, and Sergeant Major “A” for helping with the dive scene. I’m not a combat diver, but I am PADI certified, so I figured how hard could it be to write an underwater scene? Turns out, diving with a rebreather is a little bit different than open-circuit diving, and luckily I had them to correct my mistakes. If any remain, rest assured, they’re mine alone.
Stuck in a barracks with Axe, he also gave my complicated elevator ambush a sanity check on my explosives planning—along with catching a huge mistake on the IED the Ghost places on Knuckles’ car.
I have to give a shout-out to J-Boy, who claims he invented a widget I used in the book. I’m fairly certain I’m the one who invented it, but he remembers it differently, so I’ll give him his due. More importantly, he also confirmed my dim memory of diplomatic pouch procedures.
The case officer in Beirut, code named Cedar Hill, is a real person. Well, at least a real name. Here in South Carolina there’s a wonderful organization called the Barrier Island Free Medical Clinic that provides continuing primary health care to uninsured adults living at or below 200 percent of the federal poverty level. All of its doctors are volunteers, and all of its operating costs are donated or generated through fundraisers. One of the founding members enjoyed One Rough Man and contacted me out of the blue, asking if I would let them auction off a character name in this book at their annual charity golf tournament, with the proceeds benefiting the clinic. Completely flattered, I said yes, and Cedar Hill became Louis Britt. I haven’t met him, but I hope he enjoys the character.
Seeing my name on the cover of a book is still a surreal experience, and I’m indebted to my agent, John Talbot; my editor, Ben Sevier; and the entire Dutton team. Thank you for keeping me on track and preventing me from making rookie mistakes, both on the page and in the publishing world, period. It amazes me when I’m out buying dinner and see my book in a grocery store, and I’m under no illusions about how it got there.